


Ready to Explode

by scottmon3y



Category: Le Magasin des suicides | The Suicide Shop - Jean Teulé
Genre: Comfort, Omorashi, Terrorism, fearwetting, implied PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2019-03-08 01:42:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13447839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scottmon3y/pseuds/scottmon3y
Summary: Vincent and Marilyn are out buying supplies for the shop when they’re caught in the middle of a suicide bombing. Meanwhile, Vincent really has to take a piss.





	Ready to Explode

“Are you sure you don’t want me to pull over to the side of the road? You look like you’re about to burst.”

“Enough already! I told you a hundred times that I don’t need to pee.” 

Marilyn rolled her eyes and slumped in her seat. Her older brother trembled in the passenger side. She watched with boredom as he fidgeted with his clothes - which he explained as ‘fixing’ them - and sighed. He flushed bright red when he noticed her staring.

“You’re so strange.” she remarked. 

“At least I actually contribute to the shop.” he replied. 

“What has that got to do with it?”

“Just shut up already! If you don’t,” he hissed, reaching into the backseat to grab their most recent purchase, “I’ll let these spiders loose in your bed.” 

Marilyn rolled her eyes and snatched the box from her. She tossed it back haphazardly and crossed her arms.

“Fine. God, you’re as stubborn as dad.”

“And you’re as annoying as Alan. Besides, even if I did need to use the bathroom, we’re not far from home.”

She snorted.

“Sure, but with this traffic it’ll be a while.” The streets before them were filled to the brim with cars, trucks, and motorcycles. They stretched far into the distance, so far that they couldn’t make out any stoplights, and eventually were swallowed by the smog. Vincent groaned quietly and shifted in his seat. 

The dreary funeral tones playing on the radio fizzled out all of a sudden. They were replaced by a mechanical voice:

“Attention listeners: City officials have received alerts of incoming bomb attacks.”

Vincent felt his blood run cold. 

“What - what did she say?” he asked. Marilyn shushed him.

“If you are currently residing in the downtown portion of the CoFR, you are being advised to take immediate shelter.”

Right on cue, something in the distance rumbled. It happened again, but sounded closer this time. The blonde gasped and hopped out of the car.

“Quickly! We’ve got to hide!” She ran a few feet, then realized her brother wasn’t with her. She went back to the car and forced his door open. “What’s the matter with you? Run! Run!” 

She had to drag him out of his seat. Terrified people poured off the roads, weaving between still running vehicles as the explosions became closer. Vincent stumbled, pulled by his sister, and maintained a dumbfounded expression as they ducked inside of a nearby shop.

“Here, here!” The owner exclaimed. They jumped into the cellar with him and the other citizens. After he closed the door, everyone was plunged into relative darkness. 

“Phew, we made it...” Marilyn breathed. “What the hell is the matter with you? Aren’t you always talking about how we need to stay alive for the sake of the shop?” she demanded. Vincent wasn’t listening. He just stared up at where he presumed the cellar door was. He had a look in his eyes like he’d been there a long time. 

There was a deafening boom, and everyone cried out. It rattled the room, and showered them all with cement dust. Marilyn coughed and sputtered. Things continued that way, although most of the stowaways seemed to calm down. 

Marilyn’s joints whined from her awkward, crouched position. She leaned back, but flinched when her shoe landed in something wet. 

“What’s that?” she asked. In the low glow of the cellphones of people calling their relatives, she could make out a puddle. It trailed into the cracks of the concrete, ultimately pooling under the hunched over form of her brother. 

“Vincent!?” she exclaimed. He was leaned forward, grinding his palms into his ears, eyes shut tight.

“Mom, mom, mom, mom!” he chanted quietly. He seemed unaware of what he’d done, despite the people closest to him loudly complaining about it. Marilyn frowned at the tears pouring down his face.

“Oh, Vincent...”

She took him in her arms, not minding the pond of urine she was kneeling in. He clung to her and sobbed into her shoulder. 

“Don’t worry,” she said. “It’s almost over.”


End file.
